


come back to me

by daddyolusamicitia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, M/M, Suit Kink, Uniform Kink, a dash of, a touch of, and don't forget the, and to finish it all off, good bit of sex in the first chapter, hoooo boy okay i think i got everything, let's see we have a little bit of, touchy feely feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-06-10 22:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15301182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daddyolusamicitia/pseuds/daddyolusamicitia
Summary: i did not fall down the rabbit hole that is ignyx. i tied a cinderblock to my ankles and fucking swan dived into it. here's my contribution to one of my favorite rarepairs.also, this was not beta'd. only proofread by me about three times before i published it, so there may be a few mistakes. apologies in advance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i did not fall down the rabbit hole that is ignyx. i tied a cinderblock to my ankles and fucking swan dived into it. here's my contribution to one of my favorite rarepairs.
> 
> also, this was not beta'd. only proofread by me about three times before i published it, so there may be a few mistakes. apologies in advance.

It was clear--by his posture, by his clothing, by his name itself--that he didn’t belong in this dingy dive bar, drinking red wine and sulking all by himself. The crowd--made up of mostly blue collar, working class people and Glaives--must have sensed this, if the five foot radius of space given to him was anything to go by. Nyx actually stared at him from his lonely table in the back corner, trying to convince himself it was not who he thought he saw. But no matter what he thought, no matter the illusion he tried to sell himself, he was openly gawking at Ignis Scientia, the Prince’s own lapdog.

He was in a bad mood, that was for certain. His hands were clenched together tightly around the stem of his glass, knuckles white from the strain. He was glaring at the drink, mouth pursed into a tight, thin line and eyebrows nearly touching over the wrinkled bridge of his nose. His hair was only slightly unkempt, as if he’d come to the bar straight from work. Tension was obvious in his neck and shoulders. Whatever was eating him, it was vicious. Nyx felt a tug of sympathy in his chest. Drinking should be fun and social, not a coping mechanism. He figured a little low-budget therapy was in order.

The crowd seemed to tense further when Nyx breached its border, clearly making his way to the bar. He wondered how many people were watching; he didn’t exactly look the type of man an aristocrat socialized with. But if he was turned away, no one could say he didn’t at least try.

“You okay there, kid?” he asked lightly. Ignis jumped as if he’d been startled from a trance, wide eyes turning inquisitively upward. He blinked for a few seconds as he apparently processed Nyx’s presence, then his expression fell into one of familiarity.

“I--yes?” His answer was posed as a question, as if he weren’t sure. Not having yet been told to pack it up and fuck off, Nyx dared to pull a stool out from the bar. He paused, but Ignis only watched him with a carefully guarded yet curious expression; Nyx decided it was safe and sat down.

“You sure? Because you’re staring at that glass like it called you the wrong name in bed.”

  
Ignis’ face paled, then fell. He turned away, bangs hiding the look in his eyes as he replied in a quiet, defeated voice, “So, it’s _that_ obvious.”

 _Shiiiiiiiiit_ . Nyx had intended it as a joke, a way to break the ice and figure out what was actually bothering the poor kid. He hadn’t expected to hit the nail on the head; or, as was probably more accurate, to smash the Godsdamn thing to dust. “Shit, I am _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean--”

Ignis suddenly pressed the lip of the glass to his mouth and, tossing his head back, drained the entire glass in one neat swallow. Nyx was one part concerned, one part surprised, but on the whole rather impressed.

“ _Useless fucking bastard_ ,” he spat; Nyx was more like two parts surprised at this moment. “Had the absolute _gall_ to tell me I work too much when he didn’t even have a job at all. I could excuse it if he’d at least attended classes like he said he was, but _no_ , _I_ was the neglectful, lazy, _good-for-nothing asshole_.” He raised the glass again, momentarily forgetting it was empty. “Good enough to pay the bills while he brought every manner of ilk into my apartment.”

Nyx bit his lip, unsure of what to say after the onslaught of extremely personal information. He was allowed a few precious seconds as the bartender refilled Ignis’ glass and took his order.

“So, this good-for-nothing ex-boyfriend. He have a car we can egg or something?”

  
Once again, his joke fell flat. Ignis suddenly slapped a hand over his mouth and glanced at Nyx, clearly horrified by his actions.

“I’m so sorry. You don’t even know me, and yet here I am bemoaning my heartbreak to a complete stranger.”

Nyx offered a smile and waved his hand nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about it. We all need to vent at some point. I doubt His Highness is helpful with that.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow at that, his expression a mixture of curiosity and accusation. “So you know who I am after all.”

“Yeah. I see you around the Citadel sometimes. I’m a Glaive.”

  
He scanned Nyx quickly. “You don’t look it.”

  
“Well, there’s this fantastic thing called a weekend. It’s where people don’t have to go to work for a couple of days. Even get to wear something that isn’t a uniform. You really ought to try it.”

Ignis finally laughed; he had a nice laugh that complemented his smile. “You sound like Noctis when you say that.” He took a smaller sip of his wine, as if he were thinking. Nyx allowed him his time. “He has enough to worry about on his own. I couldn’t burden him with my problems.”

“Then burden me.” The response was impulsive, and had Ignis not looked at him with some measure of reverence, he would have regretted it.

“Surely I couldn’t,” he replied, eyes darting downward as his cheeks remained a rosy pink. “You surely have your own troubles.”

  
“Sure do.” Nyx began ticking off every issue he could think of, throwing up a finger to emphasize. “I live in a shithole apartment, I can hear my neighbors fucking so loudly it wakes me up at two am, there’s a leak in the window beside my bed that has ruined three towels, and my heating unit shorts if I go above sixty-eight degrees.” Nyx punctuated his laundry list of ailments with a sip of his beer. “And yet, I can still find some compassion for you. Incredible, I know. I’m a saint.”

The smile on Ignis’ face only grew. “You’re a lot nicer than you appear, Mr. Glaive.”

“Nyx,” he corrected quickly, tapping the neck of his bottle gently against Ignis’ wine glass. “And the therapy _does_ come with one condition: you buy the drinks.”  
“Is that all? Sounds like a deal.”

Ignis offered his hand, and Nyx shook it without hesitation.

* * *

 Nyx had expected higher stress levels from a man like Ignis--not even twenty years old, yet burdened with the responsibility of guiding the country’s next leader--but they had only met four times over the next six months. Each time was usually after work, both still in uniform and beyond exhausted. Today, it seemed, was a different matter. For once, it was a weekend Nyx had off. The only reason he’d even gotten out of bed today was the leak in his window; the promise of free alcohol also helped. Nyx threw on whatever didn’t smell like the locker room and stepped out into the night.

The bar Ignis had chosen was a seedier place, with clear water damage and loud, drunk patrons trying to sing along with the band screeching on a small stage in the back of the room; it was close enough to his apartment he was able to walk. Nyx spotted Ignis in a dim corner, watching the band with a passive disinterest. He wasn’t dressed to nines, as Nyx had come to expect of him. Apparently on his day off, Ignis wore actual people clothing: a cotton t-shirt and form-fitting jeans dyed a charcoal grey. His hair was left down to cover his forehead, nearly hanging in his eyes. It made his gaze all the more alluring when he looked up and spotted Nyx weaving through the crowd. When their eyes met, he smiled. Nyx found it suddenly difficult to breathe.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he shouted over the noise. Nyx grinned, sliding into his seat next to him. “I hope you didn’t have any other plans!” He had to lean in close to hear him; he was wearing cologne, citrus and cinnamon and something spicy that tickled his nose. He could also feel his breath against his neck when he spoke. Gooseflesh burst across his skin and he suppressed a shiver.

“I never have plans. I just play it by ear.” Nyx took a heavy swallow of his beer. “Any particular reason you picked this place? Kinda out of the way for you.”

Ignis was clearly trying to hide a smile, even as he shrugged. “It’s highly unlikely anyone here would recognize us. I hear the food is supposed to be good.”

Nyx accepted the laminated menu; it was almost two feet long and filled with very fine print that was difficult to read in the dim lighting. Rather ambitious for a bar of this caliber, but he scanned the food items nonetheless. “Okay, if these skewers are ‘authentically Galahdan,’ I’ll eat my left nut.”

Ignis snorted next to him. “There’s one way to find out.”

Of course they were terrible. They weren’t supposed to be ordered until one was so drunk they couldn’t read and just accidentally pointed to them on the menu; they were dry, overspiced with something Nyx couldn’t identify but knew wasn’t Galahdan, and doused in a sickly sweet sauce that tasted like it’d sat at the back of someone’s refrigerator for six weeks past its expiration.

“Well,” Ignis asked, mouth twisted into something directly between a too-sour lip pucker and general disgust. “Whatever they are, they’re terrible.”

  
“Yeah, _eugh_.” Nyx set the skewer down, then wiped his mouth and tongue with a napkin. “You’re better off hitting the stalls if you want the authentic stuff.”

“Are they open this late?” Ignis finished his beer, pushing the bottle away. Nyx looked at his watch; it wasn’t even ten. The stalls wouldn’t even be busy until midnight. “Unless, you’d rather not be seen with me.”

Well, that sounded like a challenge if Nyx ever heard one. He tipped his beer bottle completely upright and finished it off in two deep swallows. He wasn’t sure if Ignis was staring at him or not, but didn’t address it. “Let’s go.”

The stall was located in what natal citizens of Insomnia lovingly referred to as Galahdan Corner, a smaller area of the city almost completely occupied by immigrants, including Nyx himself. The owner and chef of his favorite stall, Trent, was both a good friend and a former employee. He greeted them both with a wide smile and a sideways glance at Nyx.

“Robbin’ the cradle are we, Ulric?”

“Fuck off and give me two usuals.” Nyx threw the money through the window of the stall; Trent didn’t even make a reach for it, letting it fall somewhere out of sight. The stupid smile on his face only grew.  
  
“Do you want me to fuck off or do you want food?”

  
“Pretend for just a second you know how to be professional.”

“Of course, boss,” Trent scoffed, winking at the both of them before turning his back. Ignis raised an eyebrow, smiling at him like he knew something, but said nothing.

Trent could be a dick, but he hadn’t lost his flair for food. They sat themselves at a nearby table, proper Galahdan-style garula skewers and booze in hand. Nyx let Ignis take the first bite, watching his face as he ate. His eyes went wide, brows disappearing beneath his hair. The way he moaned, however, sent a shiver down Nyx’s spine. He couldn’t look away from the other man’s lips as he licked the thick sauce from the corner of his mouth.

“Much better than the bar,” he admitted. Nyx  looked up, finding those eyes on him again.

 _He fucking knows_.

“Told you.” Nyx distracted himself with his skewers; a voice in his head pointedly reminded him about the gap in their ages, that those not in the relationship were no doubt looking at him with the same judgment Trent had. But he couldn’t deny himself on how much he enjoyed Ignis’ company, or how the feeling appeared to be mutual. Especially when he looked up from his food more than once to find those darkened green eyes staring at him unabashedly. He met Nyx’s eyes, his gaze trailing down to the other man’s lips, to his throat, then back up. There was a point to his gaze, a question he didn’t even need to ask. Nyx wiped the remains of his dinner from his mouth. “Okay, let’s cut the bullshit. Want to go back to my place or not?”

The corner of Ignis’ mouth twitched.

* * *

The door to his apartment didn’t open so much as it burst into the room with them, knocking into the wall with a loud bang. The knob had probably cracked the wall, but with those warm lips on his neck, Nyx didn’t really care. What he _did_ care about was getting the door shut as quickly as possible so that he could get himself and his companion naked as quickly as possible. Ignis seemed keen on skipping that step, if the hands wandering beneath his shirt were anything to go by. Like the rest of him, they were burning hot, the calluses between his fingers an itchy sensation against his ribs.

“Impatient, are we?” he teased, earning a sharp nip to his shoulder. It seemed the only answer he would get; Nyx kicked his door closed and found himself pressed bodily against it. He couldn’t find the time to complain, as Ignis was kissing him again with more of his tongue than his lips. Nyx reached for his hips, wound around and grabbed two handfuls of an ass that was a hell of a lot firmer than he’d expected; given how much he’d stared at it in those rather flattering jeans, that was certainly saying something. He earned a low groan in response before Ignis pulled away, though not before taking Nyx’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulling gently. _Fuck_ , he wanted him to do that again.

“How far are we going?” Ignis asked breathlessly, punctuating his question with a slow roll of his hips; already hard, both of them shuddered at the feeling of the other man’s arousal pressed against his own. The green of his eyes was nearly swallowed by black desire. Nyx’s hands tightened; he watched the way Ignis’ jaw clenched in reaction.

“As far as you’d like to take it,” he answered. “I’m game for pretty much anything.”

Ignis’ lips drew into a troublesome smile that Nyx didn’t trust a single bit. He rolled his hips again, much slower and with more pressure than the last time. Nyx gasped, fingers ever tightening. Ignis bit his lip, plump and wet and disgustingly beautiful. He tossed his head back into the direction of the eastern wall.

  
“Bed’s this way, then?”

  
Nyx didn’t sit on his mattress so much as fall after being pushed. He couldn’t exactly find it in himself to complain when the rough treatment was immediately followed with Ignis straddling his lap, erection ever obvious against the straining denim of his jeans.

He was quickly drawn away from that sight as Ignis took the hem of his own shirt and slowly drew it up and over his head, revealing inch after golden inch of taut skin, sparse hair, and hardened, dark pink nipples. Nyx wanted to touch all of him, to taste the salt on his skin. He started on his throat, feeling his pulse flutter when he pressed his lips against it. Ignis leaned into his touch, a hand losing itself in his hair. He pulled when Nyx bit him, payback for his little nip earlier.

Ignis grunted a little, pulling away, but before Nyx could ask him what was wrong, his shirt was being pulled over his head, catching on one ear before Ignis successfully stripped it away from him; in contrast, his own skin was paler, striped with scars that, other than a tingling sensation when pressure was applied, left him with no other feeling. Ignis sat back from him for a moment, eyes roaming over the sight before him. Nyx sat back on his hands, letting him enjoy the view.

Ignis touched him, fingertips gliding over the skin of his shoulder, his chest, to the cut and swells of his abdominal muscles. Nyx was no stranger to bed partners drooling over his physique, but the way his fingers found their way from the top of the scar that arced from his shoulder and across his chest, ending in the sharp spikes down by his ribs, was almost reverent. He’d never seen someone look at him, at his scars, in such a way. He could get used to it.

His dick, however, had other plans. It was straining, almost painfully, begging to be unclothed as soon as possible, and he couldn’t deny it any longer. So he grabbed Ignis’ hips and flipped them over. The younger man clearly hadn’t anticipated this, blinking in shock that didn’t last too long as Nyx began to touch him in turn. His skin was softer, the hairs on his chest much lighter and finer than the ones neatly trimmed above the waistband of his jeans. Ignis’ training was certainly doing him all sorts of favors; he wasn’t quite as cut as the Amicitia kid, but he was well on his way. Even had a few scars to his name. Nyx would have to get the stories behind them.

At the moment, he was more concerned with getting his pants off. Ignis was more than happy to aid him in that endeavor, lifting his hips from the mattress as Nyx unbuttoned them. He thought about sliding the zipper down as slowly as he could manage--just to tease--but one look at those eyes had all those plans forgotten. Hooking his fingers between hot skin and the elastic band of his underwear, Nyx divested him of the rest of his clothing. The rest of him was that same warm honeyed color, complementing the darker blond pubic hairs that framed the base of his cock. He was still hard, the glans flushed red.

Gods, he was _beautiful_.

“Do you plan on just staring at me?” Ignis asked him cheekily, one side of his mouth pulling up in a smirk; his thighs slid further apart, training Nyx’s eyes toward what was between them. Nyx eased a hand down to the front of his pants, relishing the way Ignis’ eyes followed it, as he palmed himself firmly, easing some of the pressure building in his groin.

“Trust me, Ignis. Just looking at you is enough to get me off.” _Beautiful_ , he thought again; Ignis, however, wasn’t quite as happy with that response as Nyx thought he would be. He sat up, drawing one leg in as he reached for Nyx’s hand.

“What fun is that for me?” He popped the button on Nyx’s pants. Nyx let him, holding his hips out to allow him easier access as he tugged his pants lower down his thighs. His cock strained against the underwear he wore; bland blue cotton, old and faded with more than the proper number of holes. Nyx hadn’t expected sex tonight, else he would have worn something a little more appropriate (nothing, that is to say; he would have worn nothing). The state of his boxers didn’t seem to put Ignis off at all; he removed them with just as much fervor, letting Nyx’s erection spring free. Nyx would forever commit the look on Ignis’ face to memory.

His hand stopped just short of wrapping around Nyx’s cock before he looked up at him. “May I?” Nyx blew out a heavy sigh.

  
“You know, I’m glad you asked. Another minute and I would have been begging.”

  
“ _Oh_?” Ignis wrapped his fingers around the shaft of Nyx’s cock, rubbing his thumb along the thick vein on the underside of it. “I rather like the idea of you begging for me.”

 _Shit_ . Nyx wasn’t so sure he was as in control of the situation as he’d previously assumed. He decided, as Ignis pulled himself closer and put his mouth around the tip, that that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He moaned, low and soft, letting his head fall back against his shoulders. Ignis’ hand stroked from hip to thigh as he took Nyx further into his mouth. Nyx clenched his fist against the urge to thrust into his throat. Ignis was doing something _magical_ with his tongue against Nyx’s frenulum, flattening it as he drew toward the tip. When Nyx looked down and found those deep emerald eyes watching him, he almost came then and there.

With great reluctance, he took Ignis’ chin in one hand and pulled him off of his cock. He hollowed his cheeks out as he did, freeing his mouth with a small wet pop. He even had the gall to lick his lips, never breaking eye contact. His cock was still hard, a bead of precum visible in the low light.

“Dealer’s choice,” he said. “How do you want to do this?”

Ignis shifted, pulling from his grasp as he moved to his knees as well. He was actually the same height as Nyx like this. He was so much closer than Nyx was used to; he could see the small pock scars on his cheeks, the light brown moles on his face, the flecks of yellow-green in his eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. His lips were swollen and shiny from their work on his cock. There was a wet trail from the corner of his mouth to his chin that Nyx almost missed.

“I want you,” Ignis told him in a low voice, a hand resting on his hip. “Inside me.”

  
Nyx took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly through his nose. Gods damn him for expecting Ignis fucking Scientia to be anything but brutally honest.

“Lie back. I’ll open you up.”

Ignis smiled, doing exactly as he was told. Nyx stood from the bed, removing the last of his clothes. He was fully aware of the burning eyes watching his every move as he opened his bedside table. He produced a half used bottle of lubricant and an opened box of condoms. Next to him, Ignis giggled.

“Am I supposed to be impressed or jealous?” he teased. When Nyx looked over at him, he was stretched out on the bed, legs parted. One hand was tucked underneath his head; the other stroking low and slow from his chest to his pubic hair.

  
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I actually have to check the dates on these things first?” Nyx turned the bottle over, squinting to read the fine print in the little lighting he head; damn, he was getting old. He handed the bottle to Ignis. “What does this say?”

Ignis laughed, untucking his hand to take the bottle. He looked at it for a long moment, making Nyx feel a little better about his eyes, before he handed it back. “It’s fine.”

“Good. Now check these.”

As Ignis examined the box, one eyebrow raising as he examined the size of them, Nyx moved himself between Ignis’ legs. They were like the rest of him: toned, shapely, haired with the same sandy blond that was on top of his head. The color on his legs and hips was even, and Nyx couldn’t find a single tan line on him, even in the dim light. He indulged himself in touching him again, in feeling his taut skin underneath his fingers as he urged his legs further apart.

“They’re fine,” Ignis said evenly, placing the box on the bed next to his hip. “You don’t need to worry about being gentle. I like it a little rough.”

Nyx swallowed with some difficulty. “Duly noted.” He poured a fair amount of lube on his fingers, working to warm it up before reaching slowly between Ignis’ legs. Ignis watched him, biting his lip when Nyx’s finger breached him. Remembering what Ignis said about roughness, he didn’t stop until he was buried in him to the second knuckle. Ignis hissed, tensing around him, as his head fell back and exposed his neck.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, _please_ ,” he gasped out; it sounded more out of pleasure than pain, so Nyx continued. He pulled his finger out slowly, then thrust it back in forcefully, until the backs of his knuckles pressed against Ignis’ ass. Ignis moaned; his erection, having flagged during their downtime, was beginning to harden again. His hand balled into a fist, pulling at the bedsheets. Nyx kept up his pace, inching his finger inside further and further each time, until he was pressing it completely inside of him. He added a second finger--perhaps a little too early--but Ignis lifted his hips from the bed and pressed against them; Nyx thought he heard a stitch pop when Ignis pulled at the sheets again.

He could do this forever, watching him breahe and write as he fell apart at the ministrations of just two fingers inside of him. He could probably bring Ignis to orgasm just like this, judging by how quickly he’d gotten hard again. A test for another day, perhaps. For now, he was growing impatient himself.

He retrieved the box of condoms, pulling out a square and ripping it open between his teeth and his clean hand. He continued working Ignis open as he rolled the condom on one-handed. It wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it’d be, but he managed; a third finger certainly kept Ignis entertained as he figured it out.

When he was fully covered, Nyx withdrew his hand and spread the excess lubricant onto his cock. The stroking relieved some of the budding tension, and he had to force himself to stop before he finished prematurely. Ignis lay still in front of him, legs spread invitingly. Nyx fit between them rather well, manhandling a bit to get Ignis where he needed him. He seemed to enjoy it, hands reaching to pull Nyx closer. His cock pressed against him, pushing inside with little resistance. Nyx moved slowly, despite all encouragement; he had plenty of time to get rough once he was sure he wouldn’t hurt his partner. For the moment, he wanted to really feel Ignis, to watch his face as he sunk every inch of his cock inside of him.

  
“Mmmm,” Ignis sighed, back arching as he thrust himself against Nyx. His nails pressed into his back, his skin singing as he dragged them from spine to shoulder. Nyx pulled halfway out before snapping his hips in a hard thrust. Ignis cried out, legs wrapping around him and holding him tightly. His nails were no longer dragging, but digging in place. Nyx did it again.

The next few minutes were a rough cacophony of gasps, moans, the arrhythmic slap of skin against wet skin. Nyx thought he heard his name a few times, whimpered like a desperate prayer. He pressed his lips to Ignis’ jaw, panting hard against his skin. Ignis curled around him, nearly pulling himself off of the bed as his legs tightened and hands clawed at him. Nyx would be sore in the morning; he found he looked forward to it.

As much as he’d have liked to have paid better attention to his bed partner, Nyx came first. It was sudden, and by the time he realized he was close his orgasm had already washed over him. He pressed himself hard into Ignis, face buried in his neck. He didn’t pull out, however, reaching a hand between their bodies to grasp Ignis’ neglected dick. He tightened around him as Nyx worked him quickly, the overstimulation almost painful, but Ignis was unraveled in seconds.

Nyx withdrew himself from Ignis’ body, mindful to keep a firm grip on the condom, before letting himself collapse onto the bed next to him. Both of them were panting heavily, covered in a light sheen of sweat. Nyx’s hand was sticky with the other man’s cum. In the heat of the moment, Nyx would normally be inspired to taste it. However, he was perfectly aware of Ignis’ coffee addiction, and knew in his heart of hearts that it was a bad idea. With a promise to himself that he’d take care of the laundry the following morning, he wiped his hand on his shirt and dropped it back in the floor. When he’d disposed of the condom in the nearby trash bin, Ignis had caught his breath.

“ _Well_ ,” he said, turning his head to look at Nyx as the other man slotted himself onto the bed next to him. “That was much better than I expected.”

Nyx snorted. “Thank you? I think?”

Ignis laughed, reaching a hand up to stroke the backs of his knuckles up and down the length of Nyx’s bicep. “It was a compliment, I promise.”

They fell silent, listening to the quiet sounds of their breathing, to the noises of the busy streets outside. To the whistling of the goddamn wind through the goddamn leak in his goddamn window. Ignis shivered next to him.

“You weren't lying about the window.”

“Why would I lie about it?” Nyx sat up, locating his blankets from where they’d been kicked down to the foot of the bed. He reached for them, then stopped. “Shit. I didn’t even ask if you wanted to stay over.”

“I...didn’t think to ask if it was alright,” Ignis admitted. He looked a little embarrassed, chewing on his lower lip. Nyx wanted to kiss him again.

“Of course it is.” Nyx pulled the blankets over them, making Ignis laugh as he leaned over to tuck them around him. He could feel the cold air drafting across his arm, gooseflesh rippling across his skin.”Might get a little cold.”

Ignis waited until Nyx settled himself before tentatively curling into the other man’s side. Nyx readjusted himself, tucking Ignis’ head into the crook of his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll need to worry about that.”

* * *

 

Nyx awoke the next morning greatly confused. The sun was peeking through his blinds at just the right angle, so that when he opened his eyes he was momentarily blinded. He groaned, attempting to move his arm and cover his face, but found it totally unresponsive. He turned his face and opened only one eye. Ignis Scientia was fast asleep next to him, breathing deeply and evenly. His head rested against his arm at the perfect angle to cut off the circulation. Nyx poked his cheek.

“Hey,” he murmured. Ignis didn’t move or respond. Nyx poked him again, slightly harder. “ _Hey_.”

Ignis groaned, eyes squeezing tighter in protest.

“You can sleep all you want, beautiful. I don’t really care. But I need my arm back.”

A tiny smile spread across Ignis’ mouth as he slowly opened one eye. “Beautiful?”

“Don’t be coy and get off me.”

  
Still grinning, Ignis shifted so that he was lying back on the pillow, freeing Nyx. His arm remained unresponsive, though Nyx knew it was going to hurt like a motherfucker once he blood started pumping again. He glared at it, turning his gaze to Ignis when the other man picked his arm up off the bed by the wrist and let it drop back down, bouncing as it hit the mattress. Ignis laughed, loud and proper, going red in the face when he struggled to find his breath. Nyx, with his useless arm, only frowned deeper.

“You know, I was going to be gentlemanly. Cook you breakfast and everything. But now, you get nothing.”

“I can always cook it for myself,” Ignis retorted when he’d found his voice. He threw the blankets away, reminding Nyx that they’d slept together naked and sending his blood where it didn’t need to go. Ignis climbed over him easily and located his discarded underwear before finding his way around Nyx’s kitchenette. He watched as he opened the refrigerator and stared long and hard at the sparse food options Nyx really had. “Eggs it is,” he said, fetching the carton and a few other things Nyx couldn’t see from his spot on the bed. As he dug through the spice rack, a sharp, electric pain reverberated up and down Nyx’s arm. He found he was at least able to move it again.

When his arm was fully recovered, he found his pants and decided to see what Ignis was up to. He was standing over a frying pan of half-cooked eggs, scrambled and spotted with a multitude of the spices Nyx had in his cabinet. He’d found a chunk of yellow cheese somewhere in Nyx’s fridge and had a few pieces crumbled on a plate next to the stove. Ignis looked up at him and smiled shyly.

“How’s your arm?”

“Better.” Nyx used said arm to pick up a spice bottle, which he instantly recognized as granulated garlic. “Never put this in my eggs before.”

“You’ll thank me in a minute.” Ignis used the spatula to stir the eggs lightly, then added the crumbled cheese. “I certainly hope you don’t have to be anywhere soon.”

  
“Nope.” Nyx watched him for a moment, admiring details of his body he hadn’t noticed the night before: the mole between his shoulder blades, the freckles on the back of his neck, the blonder highlights in his hair. “You?”

“No, thankfully. I would have been late.”

  
Nyx couldn’t believe he was feeling sheepish, especially after last night, “Then, maybe you wanna hang around a little longer?”

Ignis evenly divided the cooked eggs between two plates, handing one off to Nyx with a smile. “I could be persuaded.”

* * *

 Nyx walked the halls of the Citadel, receiving vaguely confused looks from the Glaives that were actually on patrol that evening. Despite being in full uniform, he wasn’t on duty and wasn’t expected to be on the grounds this late. In his defense, he hadn’t expected to be here either. Nor had he expected to be carrying takeout for two and a hot coffee to a certain office down this hallway, but life was crazy and unexpected. Sometimes your date stood you up on accident because he was a goddamned workaholic, and Nyx was nothing if not empathetic.

He found the right door and walked in unprompted and unexpected. Ignis didn’t look at him right away; he had his glasses pushed up to his forehead, massaging his eyelids and no doubt trying to will away a migraine. He was pale and had dark circles under his eyes. No matter how many times Nyx told him he worked too much, the man would always find some way to excuse his behavior. It almost seemed a habit to work so late.

He kicked the door closed gently, making just enough noise to get Ignis’ attention. He frowned, confusion written all over the wrinkles in his forehead as his eyes darted to the food in his hands. Then, with a quick glance of his phone, realization dawned on him, replacing the look with one of shame.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Nyx set the food down on the corner of his desk, making sure he didn’t knock anything out of place or accidentally grease up any official reports. “Stir fry, daggerquill with extra cabbage. That’s how you like it, right?”

Ignis’ guilt only seemed to deepen. “Yes.” He didn’t reach for his food, even as Nyx pried the coffee cup from the cardboard drink carrier and handed it to him. “I shouldn’t have forgotten. You deserve better than that.”

Nyx shrugged, pressing the cup into Ignis’ chest and forcing him to take it. “You think I didn’t expect this to happen at some point? You’re super busy, like, all the time. It’s really not that big a deal.”

Ignis took the lid off the coffee and smelled it. “Even so. Thank you.”

  
Nyx grinned at him, leaning down until they were nose to nose. “You work too hard. Just FYI.”

Ignis finally smiled. “Duly noted,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

* * *

Coming home to find his apartment door sitting wide open was not how he imagined his evening beginning. Nyx unsheathed a dagger from where they hung at his thighs, crouching low and slowly approaching the door; he could hear voices inside muttering to each other. He remained outside the door a moment longer as he formulated an attack plan.

“...should be fine. The damage isn’t nearly what I thought it would be.”

  
_What_?

“Good. I’ll call the tenant and let him know it’s been taken care of.” That voice he recognized; his landlord, a surly older man who’d steadfastly ignored Nyx’s window problem for the last six weeks. Suspicious over the man’s sudden change in behavior, he sheathed his dagger and walked into the apartment.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me when you do shit like this?” Nyx retained some joy in know he’d startled them. His landlord turned to face him, not even hiding the scowl on his face.

“Couldn’t reach you,” he lied. Nyx bit his tongue and waited for him to continue. “Besides, your friend was insistent we get it fixed today. Paid his own guy and everything, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt none.”

  
“Of course. Not like it’s _your_ job to do that.”

The man scowled; the poor guy sent to do the repair job looked more than uncomfortable to be stuck in the middle of their spat. Nyx looked at him.

“Did you fix it?”

  
“Yeah. _Yes, sir_ ,” he amended quickly; Nyx recognized the accent of his own people. “You shouldn’t have any more problems.” He pulled a white card from a small collection of them in his breast pocket. “Your friend already has my card, but you should take one too. Let me know if you have any more problems.”  
  
Nyx took the card gratefully. “Thanks.”

Both men left his apartment soon after. Nyx removed his uniform and, out of pure curiosity, climbed over his bed to the window. It even looked brand new, though that could have been a trick on his eyes. He hovered his hand near the corner where he’d always have to worry about wind or rain leaking in. Absolutely nothing. Not even a tickle of a draft.

Nyx wasn’t a hundred percent sure on how he felt about this. Undoubtedly, he was grateful for the fix; how many times had he complained about the fucking thing, or had poor Ignis dealing with it? But even something as simple as this repair was costly. Ignis would no doubt refuse any kind of monetary payment. So Nyx would have to get creative.

He could figure that out later. For now, he was just tickled at the thought of his utility bills being lower than usual.

* * *

The Prince’s coming of age birthday party was uneventful, as far as attempted kidnappings or assassinations. Nyx stood on guard in a corner and tried not to stare at the assortments of candies, foods, and alcohol spread across the borders of the ballroom; many of Lucis’ finest bachelorettes came to show in gowns that cost more than Nyx made in an entire year, each making their attempt to woo a Prince that could not have looked more uncomfortable if he actually put effort into it. His invited guest, a small blond boy Nyx knew to be his high school best friend, was kept neatly by his side for most of the night. 

  
Nyx found Ignis near the end of the event; his hair, rather than spiked up carefully in his usual style, was swept back and flattened against his head. He wore a black suit that made him appear leaner and taller. Against the darker color of his shirt and vest, his silver tie seeme to glow. He held a glass of champagne that never touched his lips in the twenty minutes Nyx watched him discuss something that was probably very unimportant with an older gentleman who was probably very important. The man didn’t even seem to notice the stiffness in his postire or his lack of eye contact, all blatant signs Ignis was entirely disinterested.

Ignis gazed across the room, eyes locking onto where the Prince was speaking with a small flock of women. His friend had somehow been pushed to the outer circle and was trying to politely worm his way back in, though he seemed to entirely loathe the idea of bothering them. Prince Noctis was looking out at him desperately, not unlike the way a drowning man would eye a nearby flotation device. Nyx bit the inside of his cheek and looked away, willing himself not to laugh at his future monarch.

Instead, he turned away and met intense green eyes.

Ignis had found him and was steadfastly ignoring his conversational partner. Nyx felt pinned by his gaze as Ignis’ eyes traveled from his face, slowly looking down his body, and then back up. Nyx found it difficult to swallow, but he couldn’t look away. The other man had to break their gaze first as he turned to his forgotten partner, offering another forced smile. Nyx realized he was holding his breath and released it slowly. His heart pounded against his ribs as if it were trying to break them.

Nyx turned to watch the corner where Noctis had decided to spend the last hour of his evening nursing a glass of wine and holding fast to his friend’s arm. Said friend was beaming, freckled face flushed red.

He was officially dismissed at two-thirty am, once the last of the party guests had been seen off. Nyx wanted nothing more than to go home and collapse in bed, ready to sleep away the following two days he had off. Something about being made to stand still in a corner for five straight hours was draining; he’d have preferred a recon mission outside the Wall. It was that exhaustion that clouded his mind, so much so that he didn’t notice hands grabbing him and pulling him through a doorway until his back was slammed into a wall and someone was kissing him.

He recognized the smell of citrus and cinnamon; his pillows at home seemed to have soaked up the cologne. Nyx moved his hands to Ignis’ hips and held him firmly in place, tongue laving at his mouth. When they parted, both were gasping for air.

“You know, you got no damn right looking like this,” Nyx said breathlessly, hands tightening on his hips for emphasis.

“I could say the same.” Ignis’ hands knotted in the lapels of his coat, pulling the fabric taut against Nyx’s shoulders. Part of him really wanted to remind Ignis that this was not the first time he’d seen him in uniform, but there was no way he was going to discourage this enthusiasm. “Unfortunately, I have to see His Highness and Prompto home safely.”

“My door will be unlocked.” Nyx kissed him again, hungrily, teeth setting into his lower lip. “I’ll even leave the uniform on.”

“Less than an hour,” Ignis promised him, then, with great reluctance, let him go. Nyx watched him disappear into the corridor, shutting the door behind him silently. He was half hard in his pants, heart still pounding furiously. He wasn’t sure he could make it back home with the memory of Ignis’ voice, his touch, still so fresh on his mind. Bahamut help him.

* * *

 “F-fuck,” Ignis gasped, hands clenched tightly in Nyx’s bed sheets once more. He canted his hips backward to meet every thrust of Nyx’s fingers. His thighs trembled where he kneeled on the bed, trying his damnedest to keep them apart. His cock hung red and hard and dripping. Nyx hadn’t even given him the time to remove his clothes; his blazer, even, still hung on his shoulders, though he’d tugged and wrinkled it to all hell getting Ignis into this position. Telling him he’d wanted to fuck him in his suit had certainly helped him thus far. The other man was proving to pliant, softening before him despite the rather rough treatment he preferred. For good measure, Nyx nailed his prostate dead on; Ignis keened. “Gods, _please_!”

“Please what?” Nyx slid another finger inisde of him, just because he could; clear lube dribbled down his thighs, staining his briefs. Ignis didn’t respond, gasping and moaning in time with Nyx’s fingers pumping in and out of him. He slowed his ministrations, but never stopped, to allow him to speak. “Use your words.”

That earned him a half-hearted glare over Ignis’ shoulder. “You know, _nnh_ , exactly what--what I want.”

“Yeah, but it’s so much hotter when you say it.”

The glare slowly turned into a wry smile, and Ignis turned away to hang his head, though if it was in defeat or exasperation, Nyx didn’t know. If it got him what he wanted, he was okay with it either way.

“I’m tired of your fingers,” he said in a low, husky voice, even as Nyx increased his tempo. “I want your cock in me. I want you to fuck me until I can’t see straight.”

Nyx’s cock certainly took notice of his words. He moaned in response, dry hand already working on undoing his pants. He pulled them and his underwear down just enough to free his erection, then removed his fingers from Ignis’ asshole to assist in pulling on his condom and lubing his dick. Ignis spread his knees impossibly further--despite still being trapped in his pants--and wiggled his hips back and forth impatiently. He was incorrigible.

Nyx grabbed his hips, steadied them, and buried himself halfway inside of Ignis in one solid thrust. He shouted, tensing around him sporadically. Nyx didn’t move at first; he didn’t quite sound pleased, and he was scared he’d accidentally hurt him. But then Ignis straightened his back and looked over his shoulder once more; everything in his face said that he wanted it again. So Nyx pulled out only slightly before thrusting inside, sheathing himself completely. They hips met with a smack that was dulled by the layers of clothing they still wore. The movement pitched Ignis forward, though Nyx’s hands were quick to pull him back into place. This time, Ignis moaned Nyx’s name.

He settled into a rough, uneven rhythm, but it didn’t seem to matter. Ignis cried out enthusiastically, a hand reaching between his legs to pull himself off as Nyx drilled into him. The springs in his mattress creaked and his bed knocked into the wall. Ignis shouted Nyx’s name when he came, panting as he was continuously fucked through it. His body spasmed from the overstimulation, the quick tightening around his cock all Nyx needed to finish. He held their bodies flush against each other, his orgasm finished with short, erratic thrusts.

He pulled out of Ignis slowly, enjoying the sight of his hole still twitching in his afterglow. As he disposed of the condom, Ignis watched him, using a tissue from the box by Nyx’s bed to clean his hand.

“You don’t,” he began, then stopped himself. Nyx didn’t say anything, just patiently waited for Ignis to continue. He did, however, move to his closet and begin to remove and hang his uniform properly. He’d inspect for stains in the morning; unintentionally, the open closet door sat like a barrier between them, perhaps giving Ignis some courage as he found his voice again. “You don’t have to always use condoms with me.”

“It’s safer, don’t you think? So much shit walking around these days.” He leaned around the door, finding Ignis looking at him indignantly. “Not that I’m accusing you of anything. Figured it was more your preference.” He ducked out of sight once more, beginning the long, arduous process of untying and then unbuckling his boots.

“If we were sleeping with other people, certainly. Although I do recall sucking your dick before any condom was in use.”

  
Gods above, he’d _just_ come. Ignis needed to give him a little time before using that kind of language.

“Are you?” he asked after a moment, voice noticeable smaller. Finally out of his boos, Nyx stripped his pants away and closed the door. Ignis was, to his credit, keeping up a very neutral expression that his tone otherwise belied. He was sitting with one leg hanging off the bed, his other foot tucked neatly under his thigh. His pants were undone, dick cleanly tucked away.

“Am I what?” Nyx crawled onto the bed, bowing his head for a kiss Ignis readily accepted.

“Sleeping with other people.” There it was, now he looked embarrassed. His eyes dropped somewhere around Nyx’s right shoulder.

“And if I said I wasn’t?” Nyx pressed a hand to his chest, urging him to lie on his back. Ignis obeyed with no fuss, eyes still looking anywhere but his face. He seemed to struggle with his answer, swallowing with an audible click in his throat. But he did meet Nyx’s eyes again.

“Then...then you are aware that would make us monogamous?”

  
“I know.” Nyx kissed him again slowly. His hand slid over the taut muscle in his chest, over his shoulder to the back of his neck; he used his grip there to angle Ignis’ head in just the right way, pushing his tongue into the other man’s mouth and finding no resistance. Ignis grabbed his arm, fingers clawing to pull him closer as he broke the kiss. He separated from him just enough, so that when he opened his eyes, all he saw were Ignis’s. His lips still brushed against his mouth as he whispered, “That’s on purpose.”  
  
Ignis pulled him back in.

* * *

Nyx would never tire of looking at him. They’d fucked until dawn, until both men could barely keep their eyes open in the lavender glow of twilight. Ignis had bemoaned the destruction of his sleeping schedule, but nevertheless had tucked himself into Nyx’s side and fallen asleep almost instantaneously. Nyx, however, had lain awake a little while longer. Ignis’ words still played back in his head, over and over.

_You are aware that would make us monogamous?_

Nyx had never really been the type to have multiple lovers at the same time. In Galahd, he’d been too busy running the bar and looking after his mother and sister. They’d teased him about a few customers that’s gotten a little too bold, but he’d never made anything out of those advances. After the Empire had invaded, he’d devoted his time to training. Any sex since then had been hookups, one-offs, people he’d easily never see again after they left his apartment. It was easier, he’d thought. Then this fucking kid had walked into the right fucking bar on the right fucking night. Nyx looked down at him, hair messy, body littered with bites and hickeys. _Monogamy might not be so bad._ He eventually let himself sleep.

It was well past noon when he finally woke again; this his surprise, Ignis was still asleep. Nyx was able to extract himself from the bed, and his partner, though the going was slow and careful. He needed a shower; they both did, but one look at Ignis’ face and Nyx was loathe to wake him. So he ducked himself into his bathroom and scrubbed himself clean, untangling his braids as he washed his hair. He wrapped his towel around his waist, lamenting that he hadn’t thought to bring any clothes with him.

Ignis was still in bed, his back now facing him. Nyx smiled to himself as he approached the bed slowly and sank down. Ignis groaned slightly in greeting, but didn’t move.

“Ignis? You gotta get up at some point.”

“Mmm,” was the only response he received. Ignis shifted again, curling into himself even further. “Just a moment longer.” His voice was rough with sleep.

Nyx’s smile widened as he leaned over him; his hand began working through the tangled knots in his hair, slightly crunchy from the product he’d used last night. “Not like you to sleep in.”

Ignis finally turned to look at him then, all smiles, eyes still half-lidded from drowsiness. “Oh, I have my moments.” He laughed at a little at Nyx’s incredulous expression, turning all the way so he was lying on his back. “Usually when Noctis orders me to take a day off.”

  
“Like today?”

“Like today.” Ignis grabbed his wrist, pulling gently. “Come back to bed.”

“Nyx shook his head slowly. “We didn’t get properly cleaned up from last night. I’m sure you want a shower.”

“Roundabout way of telling me I need one,” Ignis teased, but he finally sat up and cleared his throat. “Join me?”

“I literally just got out.”

“So?”

“Good point.”

* * *

Ignis surprised him by waiting outside of his apartment one evening. He was dressed in his Crownsguard fatigues, his hair immaculately set. He appeared nervous, rubbing his middle finger against the pad of his thumb and staring off into space. He didn’t notice when Nyx climbed the stairs and found him leaning against the wall by his door. He didn’t notice when Nyx approached him. It was the sound of his deadbolt throw sliding out of the lock that finally broke his stupor, and wordlessly he followed Nyx inside.

“Sorry,” he said, gesturing to the slight mess. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“It’s alright.”

  
“To what do I owe the surprise?” he asked, already disassembling his uniform. Ignis cross his arms in a defensive position, eyes downcast to the floor like he was guilty of something. Nyx paused, watching him carefully. 

  
“I...I’m leaving the city tomorrow.”

“I know.”

Ignis’ gaze shot back up in surprise.

“His Highness is to be spirited away while the general public isn’t paying attention. For his wedding, right?” Nyx hung his coat ad began working on removing his boots. “Captain debriefed us this morning. It makes sense his advisor and Crownsguard would be leaving with him.”

“It isn’t supposed to take long. A couple of months at most.”

Nyx threw his boots into his closet.

“You and I have a different definition of long.” Ignis blanched, but didn’t respond. _Shit_. “I can wait, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not exactly looking to date anyone else.”

  
Ignis sputtered at that. “I-- _date_?”

Nyx rolled his eyes, crossing the room and easily pulling the other man into his arms. Ignis melded against him immediately. He felt his arms loop loosely around his waist.

“Yeah. _Date_. Dating. We’re a couple, Scientia. Keep up.”

  
Ignis laughed into his neck. “You _will_ wait, though?”

“Of course. If His Highness will even let you go.” Nyx leaned back far enough to plant a kiss between his eyebrows. “If he won’t, though, I’m prepared to do battle in your honor.”

  
“I’m flattered.” Ignis kissed him lightly, a simple press of lips against his. “I’ll ensure you won’t have to fight Noct. Just a few weeks, and we’ll come right home.”

“Can you stay tonight?” The words just, well, fell out of his mouth. He wished he could take them back when Ignis’ smile fell.

“Unfortunately not. We leave incredibly early, and I still have to pack for the trip. We only got our orders this afternoon.” Ignis sighed, looking at Nyx for a long moment. He reached a tentative hand up, thumb tracing the crow’s foot tattoo on his cheek. “I’ll call you as soon as we’re back in the city.”

_I love you._

  
The words he truly wanted to say died in the back of his throat. They were too little, and yet so much. His mouth still gaped open; Ignis watched him, eyes scanning his face as he awaited whatever it was Nyx apparently planned to say.

“Be safe,” he finally managed. Ignis nodded, hand dropping to rest on his chest.

“I will.”

* * *

The city burned around him, the acrid smell of smoke burning his nose, his lungs, his chest, as he struggled for breath. Nyx fell to his knees, left arm rendered nearly useless now that the power of the Lucii was fading from him. Not that it mattered; his enemy lay dying before him, preaching his misguided morals and choking on his own blood. Betrayal sat bitter on the back of his tongue, and he ignored the Captain’s dying words.

The sun was beginning to rise over the border of the wall, illuminating what was left of the crown city. Most of the buildings were either collapsed or on fire; even the castle itself had been sieged, the King lying dead in his own throne room. Smoke from the fires darkened the dawn, and ash covered the ground. He prayed Lunafreya would be successful, though he wasn’t sure to whom he was praying; after all this bullshit, Bahamut could suck his left nut. His arm hurt worse than anything he’d ever felt in his life, the skin cracked open and burned to ash. His fingers wouldn’t stop trembling. The middle one was cracked, the worst off since it had bore the ring in the first place. He hoped the Kings would take him quickly now, to end his suffering.

_Mmm. Just a moment longer._

_Not like you to sleep in_.

If he closed his eyes ( _so heavy, so tired_ ), he could see Ignis’ face again, smiling gently, eyes bright. He could make out the exact curve of his cupid’s bow and the chestnut brown of his eyelashes, so thick and heavy they looked fake.

 _Oh, I have my moments_ . The sound of his laughter echoed in Nyx’s ears. He leaned himself against a pile of rubble, breathing ragged and labored. _Usually it’s when Noctis orders me to take a day off_.

Nyx tried to open his eyes, but they felt so heavy. Not even the pain in his arm, his shoulder, his ribs--all in all, the worst bodily pain he’d ever been in--could inspire him to open them again. Not that he really wanted to. Behind his eyelids he was back home in his apartment, curled in bed with the man who worked too much and fixed the leak in his window and had given Nyx the happiest moments of his last couple of years. Behind his eyelids he was holding onto his heart, his whole world, and nothing else mattered.

He’d never told Ignis what he meant to him

* * *

 

Ignis had just filled a pathetically small paper cup of fresh coffee when he saw the newspaper in a small black wire stand next to a few fashion and home decor magazines. At first he paid it no mind, the front picture nothing more than a stark mess of color in his peripheral vision. It was the quick glance over of the word “Insomnia” that made him take a second look. The headline stopped his heart. He grabbed the paper, staring down at the story on the front page in absolute horror.

 **INSOMNIA FALLS**.

“Excuse me, sir?” The young woman behind the counter spoke quietly and carefully, like he was a spooked animal. Ignis hadn’t been paying attention; he didn’t even notice the man in front of him complete his purchase and leave. “If you want to read that paper, I’m afraid you have to buy it first.”

“I--yes, of course.” Ignis none too gracefully stuttered his way through the transaction. He forsook his change, leaving it and his coffee with the cashier as he ducked outside quickly. The warm seaside air was a stark contrast to the sweat clinging to his skin. Ignis’ eyes darted around the area, scanning for any sort of threat. A voice in the back of his mind wondered exactly how panicked or crazed he looked at the moment.

He walked down the boardwalk, through the restaurant and dining area, to the beach, where early morning fishers were casting lines and revving the engines on their boats. He turned right, away from the growing crowd of tourists, to a rougher, more wild side of the beach. He walked and walked, forcing his eyes and feet forward, until he could no longer hear the buzz of tourists. HIs heart had restarted since the shop, but now it was pounding hard and heavy against his rib cage, as if it were attempting to break out. His hands were shaking, growing clammy underneath his gloves. He was attempting deep, even breaths; he couldn’t lose his cool. If the story was true, he needed to get over his shock, his despair, and be there for Noctis when he delivered it. Ignis sat himself on a low rock and unfolded the paper.

For an article detailing the fall of their Empire, the writer appeared to be wholly unaffected. King Regis had been found dead. Lady Lunafreya, who wasn’t even supposed to be in the city to begin with, was missing and suspected dead. Noctis’ departure from the city hadn’t been made public, and they assumed the same of him. No official death count, but it was estimated to be in the thousands. No mention of the Glaives at all. No mention of _his_ Glaive. Refugees were pouring into makeshift camps on the outskirts of Leide, overwhelming the hunters and remaining Crownsguard.

Ignis knew Nyx too well to deny the truth to himself; he would never have let such a tragedy happen without trying to do something, _anything_ about it. Foolhardy, he’d once teased. Ignis wondered how early in the fight King Regis died. Though he felt guilty, he knew once the King was dead, Nyx would no longer have his magic. He’d be powerless against the MT’s and daemons that had overcome the Wall. The realization of it, the sudden and total acceptance, hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest. He thought his heart might stop again, and that he might fall and join Nyx. He felt nauseous from the guilt, because he wouldn’t have minded it.

His hands began trembling first, then his arms, then the rest of him, the shaking spreading slowly, until he slid off of the rock and onto the sand below; the paper followed, landing between his legs. A flurry of emotions mixed with the nausea, bubbling in his chest like an over-shaken soda. It flooded his throat, burning hot. Ignis covered his mouth with both hands and screamed.

It took him over an hour to compose himself. He washed his face with seawater, grateful for the cold on his searing skin. His eyes would be red and swollen, perhaps his cheeks would even flush. But he would face Noctis and be brave; he would be strong so that Noctis and the others could grieve. He could compartmentalize and push forward. As much as it pained him, he had to. There was no other option.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big thank you to everyone who came back for this chapter. :D sorry for the update taking so long and being so short, but this time of year is the busiest for my line of work, and the bossmans have been putting a lot more responsibility on my head this time around so writing time has been slim to none. i'm planning on the next (and last) chapter being a lot longer, so i hope you'll continue to be patient with me.

Nyx awoke in a small, brightly lit room that smelled of antiseptic; it burned his nostrils, almost inciting a sneezing fit. His brain took a few seconds to catch up, but he finally deduced that he had to be in a hospital. His body felt like it had been weighed down, muscles aching with the memory of a greater pain; he wanted to go back to sleep. Something in the back of his mind, however, told him doing so was a bad idea. He needed to get his bearings, find out exactly where he was, who was in charge, and why he was here. Nyx slowly pulled his elbows underneath himself and attempted to sit up. He groaned with the strain, his muscles burning, but his body gave out and he fell back against the mattress with a dull thud; there was barely enough padding to allow him to bounce back. He braced himself to try again when he heard a high-pitched yelp and something glass shatter.

He found a woman standing a few short feet away, a cracked clipboard hiding half of her face and broken glass shimmering by her feet. By the time it occurred to him that she was a nurse and could actually help him, she was already gone, having fled through a nearby door that slammed shut heavily behind her. He watched after her for a moment, but she didn’t return. Nyx let his head fall back against his pillow. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to ground himself. He needed to remain calm, wait for her to come back. He needed to prioritize what information he needed. Know what...questions...tooooo…

He wasn’t sure when he lost consciousness, or how long he’d been asleep. When he did come to, it was to the sound of multiple voices speaking above him, clearly upset.

“Sir, I’m not lying!” a female voice insisted, voice loud and defensive. “He’s awake! He tried to sit up!” The nurse, he concluded.

“I highly doubt it.” _Libertus?_ “Nyx was always a show-off. I imagine he’d make a big deal about his heroics during the fall the second he woke up.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Nyx spat back in a rough, sleep-thickened voice.

The voices above him went completely silent. He almost thought he’d scared them, when--

“Nyx?”

Her voice was soft; the hand that rested on his cheek was warm and tender, though most of his memories of the woman were anything but. This had to be a dream. A dream or Bahamut had some fucked up sense of humor. Either way, Nyx opened his eyes and found Crowe standing at his bedside, leaning over him with wide, brown eyes full of concern. The last time he’d seen those eyes, they’d been cloudy and sunken and tear-stricken. They’d been _dead_. But here she was, _alive_ ,leaning over him in his very uncomfortable hospital bed. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to ask her the million and five questions racing through his mind. Mostly, _how is this possible_?

He opened his mouth, attempting to speak, but she shook her head gently to cut him off.

“Wait a minute, Hero.” The tender tone of her voice belied the teasing nature of his old nickname. “Doc wants to check you out. We can talk after.”

It was...a lot. Nyx faded in and out a few times, unsure if he was sleeping or simply staring off into space, unable to focus for the medicines coursing through his body. They were the most patient and kind he’d ever seen them; Libertus answering any and all questions he was able--even if Nyx had asked them two or three times before--and Crowe spooned ice chips into his mouth when he needed them. Through his haze, he managed to gather enough: he’d been comatose for three years, his body found amidst the remains of the city. Just looking down at his body, at the results of his unused muscles and feeling the incredible weakness in them, was enough to corroborate. The scarring on his left arm looked nowhere near as bad as Nyx remembered it feeling, though he had some trouble bending his middle finger underneath the built-up scar tissue.

Crowe hadn’t been the only Glaive revived, she’d told him, but not everyone lost had come back. No one was sure why or how, beyond it being the will of Bahamut. A will no one dared to question. Nyx thought to tell them of the ring’s decisive fate, that maybe he was alive due to that will as well, but there was no need to upset them for it. There would be enough time for them to yell at him later.

“Where am I?” His throat still ached, but it was bearable with the cold ice, and his voice wasn’t so thick as before. Libertus began cracking his knuckles for the third time since their long conversation began.

“Leide. We found you lying half-dead in a pile of rubble, right next to…” Libertus’ voice faded, eyes downcast as if he were somehow ashamed; if Nyx knew who he was thinking of, he hadn’t any reason to be. Crowe cleared her throat and kept her eyes trained on her hands. “It was the closest hospital, and we didn’t have anywhere to go at the time. Soon as you can walk, though, you’re coming with us to Lestallum.”

“What’s there?”

“Most of the country’s remaining civilization.” Crowe tucked a curl behind her ear and offered him a small smile. “Hunters, traders, farmers. A few Glaives, too. We’ll get you back in fighting condition in no time.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Libertus agreed.

Nyx closed his eyes, taking a slow breath. There was one thing they had yet to speak of, something they would have known he’d want to ask. The fact that they avoided it worried him. “What about Lunafreya?”

No one spoke; his friends didn’t even chide him for referring to the Oracle by her name. He opened his eyes when he wasn’t answered; their eyes were on each other, both wearing the tired twin expressions of _who’s going to tell him_? It was answer enough.

“The Prince, then?” Continued silence, the ringing in his ears only amplified by it. “Prince Noctis?”

He was going to do something everyone would regret if he didn’t get a Godsdamned answer.

Libertus sighed heavily, shaking his head. “He’s gone. They’re all gone now.”

Nyx’s heart sank. All. _All_.

 _Just a few weeks, and we’ll come right home_.

He’d been foolish to get his hopes up.

 _They’re all gone now_.

Libertus’ hand on his was warm and comforting. Crowe put an arm around him, kissing his temple and pressing her forehead against it. Nyx fought back the tears and failed.

 

* * *

 

They told him the details, eventually. Of how Lunafreya perished for summoning Leviathan, of how her body had been found next to the Prince’s and his advisor. Dear, sweet Ignis. His face had been torn up, they’d said. Scorched black, others said. All rumors confirmed him dead, as far as Libertus knew. Perished to save his Prince, who in the end had walked away and disappeared to who knew the fuck where, leaving this broken world behind him. How fucking noble.

_“What do you think?” Ignis asked, leaning against his desk and radiating pride. Nyx looked around the room; it was a pretty large office, with a dark oak desk sitting in the middle, the carved details accented with gold paint. The curtains on the bay window were drawn back, illuminating the room with the bright, natural light of the midday sun. Shelves lined the walls, filled end to end with books, indexes, maps, and other important documents Nyx wasn’t interested in._

_“Given that your previous office was the kitchen table of whoever’s place you were staying at, I’d say this is a well-deserved upgrade.” Nyx walked to the window, looking out over the gardens. Most of the flowers had wilted in the mid-fall chill, the ground still wet from that morning’s frost. He fingered the catch that held the curtains back. “Not nearly as much fun as someone’s kitchen, though.”_

_“Why, Mister Ulric.” Ignis feigned surprise, flattening a hand against his chest. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”_

_Nyx smirked and pulled the catch free; the curtains were made of a thick, dark velvet, and the room darkened considerably once he had both sides pulled down. “That all depends, Young Master Scientia, on what you think I’m suggesting.” Ignis had rounded the desk while Nyx’s back was turned, watching him with a salacious glint in his eye. His gloved fingers played idly with the lapel of his suit jacket._

_  
_ _“Oh, I have an idea.”_

It was too easy to let himself fall back into his old memories. On days like this, between physical therapy session when his body didn’t hurt badly enough to block out any brain function, when his sad puppy eyes couldn’t wheedle out a few more milligrams of whatever painkiller they were giving him, he would find snippets of his old life instead of sleep. He wished he could forget everything, some nights. Forget the way Ignis had looked at him from across the table at a meeting. Forget the feeling of his fingers threading through his own in the darkness. Forget the way he’d hold him close and ease him through the nightmares. Nyx’s chest tightened like his heart was trying to stop itself. On the worst nights, he’d wish for that, too.

When he wasn’t remembering better times and wallowing in his own misery, he was working to regain his strength. His doctor, an older Leiden man with dark grey hair and a sneer set into his face like iron and only ever answered to Bertram (not Doctor, not Mr., only Bertram), was determined to get Nyx up and working properly again. Nyx thought he was a sadistic bastard who specialized in physical therapy just to torture his patients. He would be lying, however, if he said he didn’t see any improvements through the man’s methods.

Crowe, more often than anyone else, traveled to see him. She helped where she could; Bertram took a liking to her rather quickly, appreciating that her needling of Nyx often got better results than simply demanding progress from him. She would stand on one end of the bars and goad him, bringing up old bets, old training failures, anything that would prompt Nyx to move toward her and shut her up. By the end of the day, his body ached and felt like lead. But it was moveable lead. Before long, he was walking to therapy. Then he was running away from his nurse--a half-Galahdan, half-Lucian woman named Willow who was no doubt being sorely underpaid while dealing with his shenanigans--leaping over his bed and out into the hallway when she caught him up at night.

Of course, he would eventually collapse from exhaustion, and was treated to an earful and a half from her as she had to locate a wheelchair, haul his stupid ass into it, and then take him back to his room. Each day, he was making it just a little farther away from her.

Each day, his heart hurt a little less.

It was nearly a year and a half from his waking when Libertus and Crowe checked him out of the hospital; she brought him new clothes and a set of kukris not unlike what he’d used in his days as a Glaive. The day before, Willow had cut and buzzed his hair in the usual Galahdan style. Once he’d changed, she sat him back down on his bed and braided his hair. She had tears in her eyes when he hugged her.

Nyx knew about the sun’s disappearance. He’d been told of the overabundance of daemons on the roads and the never-ending nights; he’d looked out his window many times and found the sky unchanging. It was jarring, however, to walk outside and see the world as it was; the hospital was surrounded by white fluorescent lights, but beyond their borders he could see the shadows throbbing and weaving, just waiting for some sweet innocent soul to wander just a little too far. Crowe took his arm and lead him to a van parked to the right of the building, still well within the reach of the lights. There were two other people--a man and a woman, both wearing worn out Glaive uniforms--standing by.

As soon as Nyx placed the man’s face, he felt fire coursing through his veins. The heat bubbled in his chest, beneath his skin, almost like the magic had years prior.

He wasn’t aware of himself pulling away from Crowe. In one instant, he’d been by her side, arm in arm. The next he was on the ground, straddling the bastard who’d had the _gall_ to show his face after shooting him and threatening Lunafreya’s life. He’d landed two solid punches before he realized he’d warped onto him; before he realized his fist was alight with flickering orange flames and that Luche’s face was blistered and bleeding. He’d thrown his hands up to protect himself when Nyx had paused, still staring at the fire that licked across his fingers and the back of his hand. Out of habit, he simply willed for the fire to die away; he didn’t expect it to work, but the flames died instantly, the skin of his knuckles only bruised.

Then Libertus was grabbing him by the waist and hauling him away, and the woman Nyx didn’t know was kneeling by Luche and inspecting the damage.

“Guess I deserved that,” he heard him mutter; what Luche deserved could be worried about later. Nyx was staring wide-eyed at Libertus, eyes asking the question his shock wouldn’t allow him.

“We all got it,” he told him quietly. “You can feel it, right?”

Nyx focused, suddenly hyper-aware of the buzzing beneath his skin and the way the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. It was alarming and yet strangely comforting. How had he not noticed it before? Exhaustion? Ignorance?

“We can all sucker-punch the asshole later.” Crowe wrapped a hand tightly around Nyx’s elbow, tugging purposefully. “We have to move before too many daemons start swarming.”

“Shit,” Libertus cursed, climbing to his feet. Nyx followed, accepting Crowe’s hand up into the back of the van; Luche strategically placed himself as far away from him as possible. The vehicle shuddered to life, and Nyx felt the all too familiar lurch as it pulled onto the road.

He couldn’t see outside the truck, but he knew they were moving fast. He could hear the roars and screeching of the creatures outside, but he’d be lying if he said he could recognize a single one. The woman wrung her hands nervously, nails already bitten down to the quick, during the entire drive. Nyx himself dozed on and off, unable to really find a comfortable napping position between having to sit straight up and the occasion the van swerved to avoid something in the road. A quick glance around told him the others were doing much of the same. Luche wouldn’t look directly at him, immediately averting his gaze whenever their eyes met.

They stopped to stretch and rest their legs at an old worn down Coernix station. The lights surrounding them were less intense than what Nyx had seen at the hospital, but they staved off the daemons no doubt lurking in the shadows. He could see a few of them weaving along the edge of the light’s reach. Nyx rubbed his fingers together; there it was again, the thrumming through his veins. Controlling it was almost too easy; it made him feel just a bit more like his old self. He summoned the flames again, letting them flicker across his fingers. Something beyond the lights screeched.

“We’re going.” Crowe slapped a hand on his shoulder. Easy as ever, the fire in his hand died. “We can rest again once we’re back in the city.”

Nyx looked back out to the darkness, to the world he’d unwittingly stepped back into, for just a minute longer. He wondered if he’d ever get used to it.

He followed Crowe back to the truck in silence.

 

* * *

 

A long while later, the driver slid a small window panel back and announced that they would be within the city limits shortly. Through it, Nyx could see a hazy white glare over the cliff top, like a burning white wildfire. The entire truck sighed heavily in relief; Nyx stretched his neck, feeling several things pop; his knees had gone sore and stiff again. Crowe, leaning against him and attempting to sleep, yawned loudly and stretched her limbs in front of her.

The truck dropped them off just inside a tunnel that marked the city’s limits. The entrance was guarded by a line of men and women armed to the teeth. Some of them wore Glaive uniforms. Others wore the all black hunter’s gear, their dog tags glinting in the harsh lights. Each of them bore scars and tattoos from their respective professions.

Nyx was welcomed back to the world of the living by a mob. Old Glaives he’d fought with, recruits he’d barely known, and even Crowe’s wife--a large, gruff woman by the name of Aranea--greeted him with tears, with too tight hugs and heavy hands slapping his back. He wasn’t even aware he was crying until one Glaive wiped his face before hugging him. Someone called him “Hero.” It felt like home again.

“You’re coming for dinner, by the way,” Aranea told him as he promised the twentieth man to let him buy Nyx a drink and catch up; she even propped her arm on his shoulder, smiling down at him. She had to be at least three inches taller than himself, dwarfing her wife completely. “Crowe insisted.”

  
“I can never say no to her,” Nyx retorted; if he could have, he would have shrugged. Aranea snorted in response.

“That makes two of us.”

Their apartment was smaller than he’d assumed with one bed tucked into the corner of their living area. Noises came from the end of the hallway, muffled by the closed door: a high-pitched voice muttering and then shrieking, followed immediately by the crashing of falling plastic and...books? Definitely books.

“Oh, dear,” Crowe sighed, clearly fighting a smile. “Is she playing Monster again?”

Aranea only smiled.

“Go get her. I want her to meet Nyx.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Aranea mock-saluted her wife before turning on her heel and disappearing down the hallway. She opened the door with a loud roar, overpowered by the responding shriek. _Their neighbors must love them_. Crowe stepped into the kitchen, lifting the lid of a simmering pot and taking a whiff of its contents. Nyx could smell the simmering spices and vegetables from where he sat on their couch.

  
“Smells good.” Nyx stretched again, his shoulders popping. “I’m dying for something other than hospital food.”

  
“But Mama, I didn’t squash the army guy yet.”

Nyx turned around sharply; he had heard her before, but somehow it hadn’t quite registered in his mind that the screaming from the back room was a child; a little girl, in fact, walking hand in hand with Aranea and pouting about not squashing her army guy. She couldn’t have been older than seven or six years, with long brown hair and large dark eyes. She was pouting from the mouth of her knitted hood, stylized as a bright green monster with three bulbous yellow eyes; the one on the far left had a few loose stitches and was slightly farther from the middle eye than the right one.

“You can squash him after dinner. There’s someone who wants to meet you.”

Her eyes locked onto Nyx immediately. She frowned suspiciously.

Aranea guided her around the couch so that both stood directly in front of Nyx. He sat forward, careful not to loom over her. The little girl tried her hardest to duck behind her mother, but Aranea’s hands on her shoulders kept her firmly in place; she settled for pressing herself back against her mother’s legs. Her eyes remained on Nyx.

Crowe put her hands on her knees and bent over to level herself with her daughter. She tapped her fingers against her leg.

“Nyx, this is our daughter. Serena.”

Nyx’s heart jumped into his throat.

“Serena, this is your Uncle Nyx. What do you do when you meet someone?” She gestured toward Nyx, but Serena kept her hands behind her back.

Nyx swallowed, with some difficulty, and then offered the child his hand. “Hi, Serena.” He hoped his smile looked friendly and not weird or creepy or anything else that would get him yelled at later. Serena eyed him for another moment, gaze darting from his face to his hand and back up. Nyx thought he would have to give up when she slowly reached forward and took his fingers in her small, chubby hand.

“Hi.”

 

* * *

 

“What the fuck was that?”

Nyx groaned, rolling from his back to his side and slowly peeling himself off of the training mat; his ribs ached, though from a pulled muscle or landing on his knife ( _again_ ), he wasn’t sure. “ _That_ , if I’m not mistaken,” he wheezed between breaths, “was you kicking my ass.”

“Awesome. Now get up.”

“How about you give me a minute, woman?”

Aranea rolled her eyes, twirling her lance nonchalantly as she paced back and forth, watching him check himself for blood. “You gonna nut up or should I just tell the Marshall not to bother.” She chuckled. “The great Nyx Ulric has wussed out. Washed up. _Has been_.”

Nyx could feel his eyebrow twitching but refused to let his temper take over. Instead, he flipped his daggers in his hands and took a defensive stance. He thought to summon his magic, but that was a little overkill. Aranea already looked bored, although he didn’t miss the way the corner of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. She did the same, gripping her weapon tightly in both hands.

“Now that’s more like it.”

 

* * *

 

“What the fuck was _that_?” Nyx gasped, sweat dripping down his face and soaking into his overgrown beard. He knelt by one of the deceased creatures, still twitching beneath him as thick, ichorous blood gushed from the open holes that had been ripped into its neck. Their hunt had specified a few goblins in the area, killing farmer and livestock that strayed too far from the lights. But these things--these clawed, ravenous creatures--hadn’t been mentioned anywhere in the contract.

“Mindflayers,” Libertus informed him, kicking at the dying creature with his boot. Its tentacles twitched, and blood dripped from its open beak as it attempted something akin to speech. It only managed a couple of wet gurgles before it finally went limp. “Don’t normally see them in these parts.”

“They’re getting bolder.” Luche stared at the massacre around them, eyes quickly scanning the battlefield. “I count seven, at least.”

“Fuck,” Nyx swore, unable to respond any other way. “They look bigger than in that fucking book.”

“They always do.”

The younger man beamed down at him, indigo eyes bright with excitement. He set his gun carefully into the leather holster strapped to his hip before offering a free hand to Nyx. He accepted the help gratefully, groaning as the pain traveled down his shoulder to settle right beneath his ribs.

  
“Thanks. For that.” He gestured to the entirety of the corpse at his feet.

“Nice shot,” Luche added from behind them.

“Thanks. I’ve had a lot of time to practice.” The man responded to him without missing a beat, but he appeared to only have eyes for Nyx; he never broke his gaze. “Not every day you get to save a war hero. Rumors said you died in the Fall.”

Nyx only shrugged.

“You probably don’t remember me, but we’ve actually met before.”

Nyx narrowed his eyes, staring at the kid’s face intensely. Before he had a chance to ponder or place his face on his own, Libertus was beside him with the answer ready.

“The Prince’s friend. Bouncy blond kid.”

“No shit?” Now that he’d been told, yeah, Nyx could see it. The same bright eyes, the crazy tight clothing--even now, really?--and his camera ever present at his side. When he’d seen it last, the camera had been shiny black and brand new. As it was now, that shine had been slowly eroded, and multiple scratches and dings lined its edges. “Yeah, I definitely remember you. You got drunk at the Prince’s twentieth and we had to haul you away before you threw up on the Altissian ambassador’s daughter.”

The kid groaned and covered his face with both of his hands. “Why is _that_ the first thing you remember about me?! I just did something _so cool_ . _Literally_ ten seconds ago.”

“Because you puked on me instead.” Nyx laughed at the redness that spread across the man’s face and ears, even as he peeked at him through his fingers. “I can forgive--” Nyx toed the dead mindflayer--“but I never forget.”

“Six help us, he doesn’t,” Luche muttered. For his personal safety, Nyx pretended he didn’t hear that.

“We should actually leave before more daemons show up.” Libertus hauled the last corpse over his shoulder, eyes looking momentarily to where they were being piled up for burning. “You can catch up once we’re back in Lestallum.”

“That’s a great idea.” He beamed. “You ever been to The Candleglow, Mister Ulric? Great little bar by the Leville. The alcohol’s shit, but the bartender likes me. She usually gives me a free shot.”

“All your shots are free if you never call me ‘Mister Ulric’ ever again.”

 

* * *

 

Prompto. Prompto Argentum. That was his name. Beyond the birthday barf story, Nyx hadn’t had any impressive encounters with the kid. He vaguely recalled a blond head running at the Prince’s heels over the years leading up to it, however. Maybe a bright flash of a camera in the corner of his eye, or curious glances from across the dining hall. Anything else he knew had been from stories told by Ignis, usually complaining about his influence on Noctis.

In all his years, Prompto hadn’t developed a stronger resistance to alcohol. They chose to sip their moonshine slowly, each time having to gather enough courage to put the booze to their lips. Prompto appeared to be braver (or more inclined to hurl himself toward inebriation). He was leaning heavily on their little table, relying on it to keep himself vertical.

“By the time we showed up, he was already gone,” Prompto concluded, voice thick and eyes glistening. He blinked rapidly and sniffed, uncurling his fingers only to quickly wipe at his nose before taking another sip. Nyx followed suit; the moonshine smelled like paint thinner, but he drank it anyway. “And that guy. _Ardyn_. He was…” Prompto trailed off with a shiver. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that face. Four years and he still haunts my nightmares.”

Nyx wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he didn’t. Instead, he drank again, and he waited.

“We kind of drifted apart after that. I don’t think we could bear to be around each other. We just reminded ourselves of who we lost. Been me, myself, and I ever since.” He shrugged, then tilted his head back and finished his entire drink in one swallow. He coughed, turned green to complement the red in his complexion, then recovered and poured another. “Do you remember what happened that night? The Fall?”

It was Nyx’s turn to avert his gaze, staring down into his drink as he swirled it idly in his hand. “Bits and pieces,” he admitted. “To be honest, after I gave the ring to Lunafreya, a lot of it’s a blur.”

  
Prompto bit his lip, going stiff. Even now, the mere mention of the Oracle’s name could curdle any conversation.

“I remember the daemons and MT’s. General Glauca.”

“Drautos.”

Nyx nodded.

“I remember the smell of smoke. Everything was on fire. And King Regis.”

Prompto was looking up at him again, leaning further over the table. His voice was barely above a whisper. “You were there with him? With Noct’s dad?”

Nyx couldn’t forget it. When Prompto closed his eyes, he saw a monster. When Nyx closed his eyes, he saw King Regis’ body hanging off the end of a sword plunged through his chest, the light in his eyes fading before he’d been tossed aside like a rag doll, like garbage. “I was.”

“Were you there when he died?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He spat the words at Prompto, quick and vicious; his tone was incredibly harsh and defensive, but Prompto nodded and sat back. They sat in silence for a long while, neither one doing much beyond staring at the wooden tabletop. Nyx thought he should probably apologize.

“Have you ever been in love, Nyx?”

The question was unexpected, on the opposite end of the spectrum of topics they’d been discussing, and Nyx’s alcohol-addled brain required a few seconds to comprehend it and provide the proper response. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. I was,” he admitted, allowing Prompto to top off his drink before he’d filled his own.

“And they’re gone now?”

Nyx’s fingers tightened on his glass. “Yeah.”

_Just a few weeks, and we’ll come right home._

“How long?”

Nyx shrugged, picking at the dirt under his fingernail. “I was comatose at the time. I only heard that he was gone after I woke up. Years had passed by then.”

  
Prompto opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, eventually closing it again and returning them once more to that awkward silence. Nyx dared another taste of the moonshine; it wasn’t really that bad if he was honest.

“When does it stop hurting?”

Prompto’s voice was small, and it cracked on the last word. The bar was mostly empty, and all the better for it that Nyx might have missed his question completely otherwise. He finally looked up again, to eyes shut tight against tears that fell anyway. He sniffled and wiped at his face, and Gods help him, Nyx wanted to curl up and cry too.

“Whenever I think about him, about how we were _just_ too late to save him it just…” He hiccuped, voice breaking into a sob. Nyx reached across the table and took his hand; Prompto’s fingers clenched around his tightly, his skin surprisingly soft for the strength that lied beneath it. “It just _hurts_.”

  
Like his heart would explode, like it would beat and beat and beat until it broke from his chest, or stopped completely from exhaustion. Nyx knew the feeling well. He’d become intimate with it, lying prone in a hospital bed, unable to do or think of anything else. They’re all gone nnow.

“I know. And I wish I could tell you that it stops. That your heart never aches, that you never remember them out of nowhere, and suddenly you can’t breathe and for a moment you wonder if everything will ever be alright again.” Nyx took another drink, partly to steady himself and partly to shut himself up for a moment. He could blame the wetness in his eyes on the booze. “I wish I could. And if I ever get to that point, I’ll let you know.”

Prompto’s shoulders fell, defeated. Nyx felt guilty for dropping so much on him, especially if the kid had been looking for comfort, but lying to him would have been so much worse in the end. He’d lied to himself for so long, he didn’t have the energy to do it to someone else.

“It does get easier. It doesn’t stop hurting, but it starts to hurt less.”

Prompto swallowed hard, staring at him with large, wet eyes. “Are you there, at least? Where it gets better?”

Nyx surprised them both by laughing, short and sharp. “Shit, who knows. I still see his face when I close my eyes, but I’m actually sleeping now. And you will too, kid. But it’s gonna hurt before it gets better, you know?”

As far as life advice went, Nyx had to admit that it was pretty pathetic. He could blame it on the spirit that was no doubt actually melting his brain. But Prompto finally smiled, then. He asked Nyx if he wanted to see some of the pictures he’d taken. Nyx indulged him, drunk enough to be willing to put up with blurry photos of dark landscapes and moon cycles and maybe the occasional flower. He wasn’t expecting the golden orange sunset over the ocean of Galdin Quay, of four young men beaming at each other and laughing over a campfire.

Noctis: asleep in the back of his father’s car, hair blown back by the wind; fishing off the pier of some lake surrounded by woods, hauling his fishing rod over his shoulder; warping in the middle of battle, blood covering half his face from a wound on his temple.

Gladiolus: dirt-smeared and sweaty as he stood by his conquered prey; resting in the car with a worn, well-read book; basking golden-skinned in the bright sunshine.

Ignis: eyes glued to the road as he absently sipped from a can of coffee; laughing at something off camera he clearly shouldn’t have been, if the hand covering his mouth was any indication; another shot mid-battle, the skin of his ribs shredded by the voretooth in the foreground; sitting around yet another campfire, the plate of half-eaten food forgotten in his lap for the sight of the stars above him.

It took every ounce of self-control Nyx possessed not to snatch the camera from Prompto’s hands. He wanted those photos for himself. He wished he could ask, but Prompto clearly had no idea the depth of their relationship. And those pictures weren’t for him, anyway. It would only lead to more confusion, and ultimately more pain.

“You should try to patch things up. If you can.” Nyx tapped on the screen of the camera, where Prompto had pressed his face against Gladiolus’ to ensure both men were in the shot. “The hurt doesn’t go away, but friends help.”

Prompto stared at the camera again for a long time, not speaking. Both men allowed the silence between them to grow. It wasn’t wholly uncomfortable. Nyx managed to finish his drink. Finally, Prompto sighed.

“Yeah. You’re right.” He finally shut the camera off and slung the strap around his neck. “And thank you, Nyx. For everything.”

  
“Of course.”

Prompto paid for their drinks--insisted, citing it as an honor to have bought a war hero a glass or two--and stumbled his way out the door. Nyx stepped into the night air, the city ever basking in the fluorescent white lights that protected them. He spotted a bench on the end of the block and dropped himself into it, closing his eyes as the world around him began to shift and swirl. He’d drunk too much, and if he came back to Crowe’s place smelling like alcohol, she’d kill him.

He still had to buy a present for Serena; her birthday was coming up soon, and a little girl only turned eight once in her life. Maybe he’d splurge on the homemade daemon plushies they sold in the market square. She’d begged her mother for a naga the last time he’d accompanied Aranea on a shopping trip. Probably not an appropriate toy for a child her age, but he had to be the fun uncle. Libertus wasn’t making any strides in that direction, and _someone_ had to pick up the slack.

  
He idly pulled the Gil from that day’s hunt from his pocket and counted it out. Even drunk, he could at least manage to keep his numbers straight. He hoped. Maybe the shopkeep would be of an honest sort.

He supposed he should get moving before they closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on tumblr @daddyolusamicitia

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @daddyolusamicitia


End file.
